I find it again in you, all these years later, the spark I helped you kindle from a small ember into a pillar of flame. Back then, I recognised that glimmer, though you were unaware of it. It must have singed you from time to time, but you hadn’t realised what it was. I couldn’t leave it to just smoulder. I gave you the fuel, I showed you the flames. You complained to me that it burnt you, the fire that seemed to ignite whenever we were together. You said that my skin on yours felt hot, that when we touched there was a well of heat deep in you. I had only to look at you, and warmth came rushing, unpreventably, to your cheeks. I could summon it without even trying. I would catch your eye, sometimes unintentionally, and my very thoughts set aglow something that burned you.
You were afraid that it would burn you up. You felt it could destroy you, consume you as a fireplace does logs in the winter. You worried that it could hurt me, that you would somehow scorch me. What you didn’t realise was that whilst you were consumed in the flames, we burned together, like a glorious inferno. Though the heat hurt my eyes, I could not look away.
Over time you’ve controlled it. It’s been dampened by the minutiae of everyday life, but it remains, smouldering in the background, waiting for oxygen. Every now and again I get a glimpse of it, dancing behind your eyes. And I long to set it ablaze again.
